Gentlemen Are Salisfactoyed

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle."
-Plato

Gentlemen are salisfactoyed for the tiaditional technology the moden time leisure styles are simple and natural. it appeared the modern style and men s handsome activity.
This garment is soft comfartlle and shrunk through special washing process natural and unique look actieved.

Mater's friends recently went to Portugal and returned bearing gifts, one of which included a t-shirt with those words on a label. Mater saw it and laughed and sent it on to me; I saw it and laughed and thought initially to write about it from a humorous point of view.
But there is more, as there is with everything. What harder battle is there to fight than in a dire situation and in a language not one's own? This poor fellow in a distant country was perhaps consigned to invent some sort of description for the item of clothing that the tag was attached to.
Beyond the glaring hilarity of one man's grammatical errors and invented verbiage, there is a deeper element to speak of, one that works men's fingers to the bone and rubs away at their souls in order to procure some degree of a life.
Gentlemen are salisfactoyed; but not all men are considered gentlemen: instead, this concerns those fellows on the lowest rung of society, for whom there is no such thing as a weekend or a moment to spare or any end in sight at all.
One person in this story had the luxury of buying the garment as a present for a friend while on a trip to another country; another had the luxury of passing on the funniest part by post, which is not cheap; and lastly, one person had the luxury of sitting down and writing about the matter in a moment of whimsy and lavish self-reflection- a concept entirely unknown, I expect, to the oblivious fellow who started this chain of events.
How far, I wonder, would a desperate man go to provide for his family? How many new words would he construct in hopes of earning that evening's crust? It seems to me that the label's text is a representation of creativity of a kind I am not accustomed to: creativity born out of fear, most likely, and cornered until something useful is hammered into the world.
Recently at my Spouse's workplace somebody asked him what I do. Spouse replied that I write. The person wished to know if I write for a newspaper or if I have had work published. When told that I do not write for money, nor do I work in any real sense of the word, his reaction was to loudly exclaim, "so you're going to support her for the rest of her life, or what?"
The colleague is quite wrong in his assumptions about Spouse and I; I am grateful every day for the fact that I have the privilege to sit and savour the pleasures of doing what I love in an easy and inspiring environment, surrounded by my cherished books, hot tea within reach and all about me endless sheets of inky paper.
Spouse works to put food on our table but that is a struggle of a different sort. Because of our circumstance, it by default lacks the desperation, sleepless nights, gnawing hunger and feverish fight that burns too many people who cannot even conceive of philosophical notions- not because of any lack of intellect but because their treacherous, soul destroying routine leaves no room for such indulgences.
So, yes, I stay at home and yes, I write for the sheer joy of it; and on occasions like today I am driven to mention those that write because their lives depend upon it.